AN: Okay, so I didn't get much feedback on the Prologue, but I know I didn't give you folx much to go on. But here is the first full chapter with some major reveals. So no excuses this time, feedback is especially important when I'm starting a new story so I know where to focus my energies. Your reviews not only help keep me motivated, but they have altered the course of my stories before. So let me know what you think...

May 2005

Logan released his grip, the bluebook fluttering to the teacher's desk with a satisfying sense of finality. He was done. Done with his exam, done with spring semester, done with the whole school year. He was free—at least for the next three months. And he intended to use every moment of those three months to their fullest potential, since it was likely to be the last taste of freedom he ever got. Once he graduated next year, he would officially be in the family business, and his life as he knew it would be over. But that was then, and this was now.

He made his way out of the classroom and into the fresh, sunny, spring day with a jaunt in his step. He had three whole months of not having to worry about anything. Even his and Rory's run-in with the cops last week for their little, nautical joyride had been easily dispensed of in the hands of his father's lawyers; he was glad Rory had managed to convince her mother to let them take care of it. And now they could just relax and enjoy their time together, at least until he left for Europe with the boys in a few weeks. He'd tried to convince her to join them, but she had refused. She wasn't looking for him to spoil her with lavish vacations; he liked that about her—the way she didn't seem to want anything from him except him. Besides, she'd said, she'd spent the last two summers in Europe and this year she needed to stay home and get some work experience.

At least that had been the plan at the time, now he wasn't so sure. She'd been hoping to get a summer job at the Stamford Gazette but his father had crushed that hope along with her spirit, apparently.

She'd been in a terrible funk ever since she'd shown up at Honor's party last week, insisting she needed to take to the sea. He hadn't asked questions at the time, just concentrated on trying to cheer her up. And the sounds she had made—he was pretty certain he'd accomplished his goal—until the coast guard caught up with them.

Of course, then he'd found out what had put her in the mood to knock people's hats off in the first place—his father. On the last day of the internship Mitchum Huntzberger had personally bestowed upon her, he'd taken her aside and told her she didn't have what it took to be a journalist. She'd been devastated, understandably. Being a reporter had been her dream since she was toddling around in a diaper, so the story went. But his father was wrong; Logan had seen his girl in action, and she was a force to be reckoned with.

But Logan's opinion hardly carried as much weight with her as his father's; the man was a media magnate who needed not one, but two rooms, just to display all his awards. He'd even been shortlisted for a Pulitzer. How could anything Logan said compare to that?

She'd get over it, of course. One man's opinion—even his father's—couldn't be enough to undo a lifetime of hopes and dreams. She just needed time to process, time to grieve. And Logan was happy to help in any way he could, even if it was just in the way of a much-needed distraction. If there was one thing Logan Huntzberger excelled at—it was creating distractions.

"Huntz!" Logan looked up from his thoughts to see his two best friends calling to him from across the Old Campus courtyard.

"Colin, my man!" Logan replied as he walked up to them, grabbing Colin's hand and bringing him in for a manly bro hug. "Finn," he greeted his other friend similarly.

"You finished?" Colin asked.

"As of about three minutes ago," Logan confirmed.

"Well go get a power nap in, then meet us at the Pub for dinner at 7."

"Then let the debauchery begin!" Finn exclaimed exuberantly, his hands splaying out with gracelessness.

"It looks like the debauchery has already begun for you, Finn," Logan pointed out with a laugh at his drunken friend.

"He's been drinking since he woke up at three," Colin confirmed.

"Well, I have to check with Rory," Logan informed them in regard to their evening plans. "She had her last final yesterday, so I was going to go grab a shower and head over there."

"Checking with the old ball and chain? You are so whipped, Mate," Finn piped in.

"What can I say?" Logan shrugged. "I'm a domesticated man." He wouldn't have believed it himself a couple of months ago. Logan avoided any and all commitments possible; he was born with enough of them, he didn't need any more. But being with Rory didn't feel like a commitment. It just felt right. So, when he'd been faced with the choice of being her boyfriend or losing her, he'd naturally panicked for about 30 seconds, but then the answer was clear. And he hadn't regretted it for a moment since. So his friends could mock all they wanted, but Logan was happy.

"Man, Gilmore must be really good in the sack," Colin marveled.

"A gentleman never tells."

"And you're a gentleman?"

"Not based on the story Ashley told me." The Australian wiggled his eyebrows lasciviously.

"What can I say?" Logan replied dryly. "It comes and goes."

"Well tonight it better go, because we are going to do some very naughty things. Convince your woman to come party with us," Colin insisted.

"After dinner," Logan promised. "We were thinking of checking out Wild Ginger."

"Is that that new Asian fusion place over on Grove?"

"Yep."

"Juliette was there last week. She didn't eat anything of course, but she said her friends loved it."

Logan rolled his eyes. "What a glowing review. We'll see you tonight," Logan told his friends.

"You sure your girl's gonna go for it?" Rory wasn't usually big on carousing about town, but Logan was pretty certain he could convince her.

"We'll be there," he promised again. "Gotta start the summer off with a bang."

"Didn't you two already do that on Richardson's boat?" Colin asked with a knowing arch of his eyebrow.

Logan laughed as he started back towards his dorm room. "A gentleman never tells," he repeated his earlier sentiment. "I'll give you a call after dinner to find out where the party's happening."

Of course, Logan was mostly thinking of the after party. Colin wasn't wrong—Rory was great in bed; they just seemed to sync. But he especially enjoyed her when she had a few drinks in her—the way she let her guard down and got a little extra adventurous. And he planned to go on plenty of adventures with her this summer.

Logan exited the stairwell onto his floor. He grabbed his keys from his messenger bag and was about to insert them into the lock when a glimpse of white caught his attention. The standard number 10 envelope fluttered slightly from the breeze caused by the slamming of the stairwell door. It was attached by a single piece of Scotch tape centered perfectly along the top of the envelope. His name was printed in clean block letters written in all caps.

It could have been anything. It could have been the money Robert owed him. Or the contact info of some girl who hadn't gotten the memo that he was off the market and wanted him to call her. It could have been a message from his roommate Lanny telling him he'd left for the semester and he could help himself to whatever beer was left in the mini fridge. And yet, Logan felt a sudden and inexplicable pang of nervousness as he pealed the document off the door.

Logan let himself into the room, dropping his bag by the door and taking a seat on the couch. He examined the envelope with detective like eyes, looking for a smudge of ink, a dirty fingerprint, a hair stuck in the glue of the seal; anything to tell him what was inside and from whom. Although, if he was honest with himself, he already knew from whom. It wasn't her normal handwriting, but there was something distinctly Rory about the pristine print.

An ominous sensation passed over Logan, replacing the pure joy that he had been feeling just moments ago. He took a deep, steadying breath before wedging his finger under the flap of the envelope and sliding it along the seal. He pulled out the single sheet of paper inside and unfolded it.

Dear Logan,

I'm leaving. I left, already, actually. And I'm sorry for telling you this way, in a letter instead of looking you in the eyes. But every time I look you in the eyes, I forget all the reasons we can never be. I forget truth, and reality, and all the mistakes I made that led me here.

A couple of months ago I came to your room planning to end our 'no strings' relationship; to end our whole relationship, really, because I was a 'girlfriend girl' and you were not a 'boyfriend boy.' But somehow you managed to convince me to give us a try. And I don't regret that for a moment; you were one hundred percent boyfriend material. But as is turns out, I was not actually girlfriend material. And as amazing as the last two months were, the truth is, I can't be the person you deserve to be with.

There is no "let's be friends' or 'starting fresh,' this time. There is no path forward for us, much as I wish there was. There is only me. I have to do this on my own. I need to figure out who I am and who I will be. I need to figure out where I go from here.

And so, I'm cutting the strings. I will treasure the time we spent together. I wish it didn't have to end, but not all wishes are meant to come true. You were not meant to be held down by my mistakes.

Goodbye, Logan. I will miss you.

Yours truly,

Ace

October 2005

It took a few moments for him to regain his motor function, but the moment his muscles started responding to nerve stimulation again, he was moving, his legs travelling back up the aisle in the direction she had disappeared. If he didn't catch her before she emerged from the row next to him, she could disappear down a new aisle and he might never find her again in this maze. He couldn't let that happen.

He emerged from the corridor just in time to see a flash of red vanish behind a stack of books to his right. He followed after her, moving in the direction she'd gone.

"Rory!" he called as he regained sight of the back of her. She was in a pair of khakis and a white, long sleeve t-shirt, the straps of a red apron tied around her waist.

"Rory, please," she continued to hurry away from him. She was just about at the end of the row of stacks when he caught up to her, reaching out to grab her hand. He felt the tug of her arm as her momentum slowed and she spun around to face him.

For the second time in less than sixty seconds Logan felt like his entire neuromuscular system had been sent into disarray. Like he'd been struck by lightning, or stung by a giant manta ray, or been hooked up to the six-fingered man's life sucking machine. Yeah, he was going to go with the last one; he definitely felt his life being sucked away.

"It's not what it looks like," she squeaked.

His eyes travelled up and down her body. Her face had filled out a bit, her cheek bones slightly less cutting, though her eyes were as sharp and icy blue as ever. Her chest strained against the red apron of her uniform, the name tag on the right carved neatly with the letters LEIGH in all caps. Something about the perfectly etched letters reminded him of that envelope he had received months ago…the last he'd seen or heard from Rory Gilmore. His eyes finally settled on the most obvious change of all; her stomach, which jutted outward in a smooth, spherical arch.

"Good," he nodded his head slowly, the words coming out of his mouth were oddly calm; detached. "That's good. That it's not what it looks like. Because it looks like you're pregnant."

"Logan…"

He ignored her interjection, continuing on; the calmness in his voice rapidly deteriorating to anger. "But it's not what it looks like," he added sardonically. "So…oh, I know," he said pointing a finger at her. "You're under cover for some article you're writing and it's one of those fake strap on bellies. Or…ooh, I have a cousin that has this medical condition that makes him only gain weight in his stomach; did you develop that?"

"Logan," she said again, her voice seemed more annoyed that anything this time. He couldn't believe the nerve of her—to be annoyed at him in this moment. How could she do this?

"I can't fucking believe this," he scoffed, shaking his head incredulously. "It's not what it fucking looks like?"

There was a momentary pause as she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. "It's not yours," she spoke defiantly.

Apparently someone had turned the six-fingered man's machine back on. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the knowledge that he should be happy about this; he wasn't the father. He wasn't going to be a twenty-three-year-old college senior with a baby. He should feel relieved. But all that he could feel at that moment was more hurt and confusion. "You cheated on me?" he breathed out. After he'd been willing to change for her, been willing to commit for the first time in his life; she was the one who'd been unfaithful?

"What?! No!"

"Well excuse me for jumping to conclusions here," he ground out. "But it's been four months since you broke up with me in a fucking letter and disappeared off the face of the planet. And unless you're carrying quintuplets, you're clearly more than four months along."

"Nice, so you're calling me fat?"

Logan reached up, rubbing his face in exasperation. "Goddamn it, Rory."

Her indignation at the slight seemed to wane and her shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'm six months."

"Well, we were together six months ago."

"Not exclusively," she shrugged. It was a simple fact. A fact he already knew. It wasn't some big shocking reveal like the knowledge that she was alive and working in a bookstore in Boston, or that she was pregnant…with another man's child. They weren't exclusive, not at first; he knew that. And yet somehow this truth was almost as painful as the others. Maybe there wasn't a literal life sucking machine that someone kept electrocuting him with, but the emotional whiplash he was experiencing was clearly going to take a year or two of his longevity.

She must have noted the pained look on his face, because she said his name again, but this time with a tone of sympathy and regret. He could tell she was about to follow it up with an unwarranted apology and some platitude meant to make him feel better.

"No, Rory," he held a hand up to stop her. "I…" he shook his head, a quiet scoff escaping his lips. "I'm such an idiot. I can't believe…" he reached up to rub at his weary face. His ego really was as big as people said. He couldn't believe his own hubris. She was the one who had insisted she wanted 'no strings,' had insisted she didn't want something serious. And he had let himself go with it because he wanted her so badly. But a part of him had always believed it was just what she said so she could be with him. He never really imagined she was with other guys. Even when she'd shown up to Finn's party with Robert, he had mostly chalked it up to her trying to make him jealous—and it had worked.

"Oh god, please tell me it wasn't Robert."

Rory's face scrunched up in repugnance. "Eww, no."

"I'm such a jackass," he continued to self-flagellate. "I can't believe I thought…Of course you were with other guys. What did I think? You sat home washing your hair when I was out with other people?"

"I mean," she reached up to nervously twirl her ponytail, "You weren't wrong to think that. Not the hair washing part, because over washing your hair is actually bad for it. But you know, you weren't wrong to think I was mostly sitting around waiting for you," she admitted, her face flush with embarrassment.

His eyebrows raised pointedly, his hand sweeping out towards her stomach. "Clearly I was."

"It's not like that," she argued.

"It doesn't matter," he shook his head. "I wasn't your boyfriend, you don't owe me any explanations." He was parroting her own words back at her, the ones she'd used to try and break up with him that day at his dorm room. Maybe he should have let her; she was, after all, carrying someone's else's child, though neither of them knew it at the time.

"I was upset," she argued. Whether she owed him an explanation or not, he was apparently going to get one. He was torn. On the one hand he had absolutely no desire to hear about Rory's sexcapades with another man. And yet, pure morbid curiosity prevented him from stopping her. "I hadn't heard from you in a week. And I knew I had no right to be upset because we weren't a couple. But I couldn't help it because I was falling for you." Apparently he was a masochist. It was the only explanation, the only reason he could think of for allowing her to keep talking; for not turning on his heel and walking away from it all. It's what he should have done. The baby wasn't his…he had no obligation to stay. He'd opened his heart to this woman for the first time ever, only to have her stomp all over it; to leave him in the worst possible way, with no chance of closure. Well, now he had his closure. She was pregnant…with some other man's baby. He didn't need to know the details; it wasn't his problem. But apparently, he was a masochist because his feet stayed rooted to the spot as she told him her story.

AN: So there you have it. I was a little torn about doing another pregnant Rory story, but in the end, I just couldn't get it out of my head. And I think the fact that it takes place during the OS gives it a different spin and provides me with some fun angles to explore. So, anyway, please let me know what you think, it really does make a difference.